From hut to hut
flies and incredible moth
singing an ugly rhythm
with a designed pidgin
Days too ugly for her to see
the night is the best time for her flee
without the aid of cars of or lexus
miles are cover in seconds
preyed huts get soured
and cry for freedom
sleeping ones get cut
no foolishness yet no wisdom
laughing is the woman with 68 teeth
crying is the creature of 1 rib
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem